That One Person
by neonquincy1217
Summary: Sherry is dead. Bourbon already put an end to her. This is exactly why he's here right, alone with his glass of favorite liquor? He's celebrating, because finally, the traitor who slipped through his fingers is gone. But why does he feel discontent? One-sided GinxSherry. Written for Poirot Cafe's Short Story #8: Silence. POST-MYSTERY TRAIN EVENTS.


**A/N:** So, yeah, hello guys. I'm still alive... although, nowhere hear KaiAo streak at the moment, which disturbs me, really. I SERIOUSLY need someone to nag me with updates. So, to you, who also follows IMHA, I'd appreciate it if you nag me with updates. I won't get mad, promise... just a tad pressured, maybe, but not mad. I wrote this story not only to find out if I can still write, but also to let you guys know I'm still alive (and struggling OMG heeeelp!) Also, please don't hate me OTL

Anyways, I have here a result of a conversation we had at PoirotCafe Forum about Movie 20's teaser and how cool that jazz music is, and then it evolves to a conversation about Gin and jazz music and all that. And _this_ happened... xD

I was rewatching the Bell Tree Express episodes and thought I should incorporate that here. Gin may be a bit OOC so please forgive him... Also forgive me for trying to find a more sane, more human side of him. That's just what we do, ne? ;-)

It was supposed to be funny but I don't know what happened. I don't even know if it's even funny LOL struggle's still real Lord help me! O_O

Working Title was _Sherry is Dead_ , but then I decided against it because it sounds dark and, um... just depressing?  
Enjoy my first shot at Gin!~

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 **That One Person**

Sherry is dead. Bourbon already put an end to her. This is exactly why he's here right, alone with his glass of favorite liquor? He's celebrating, because _finally_ , the traitor who slipped through his fingers is gone. But why does he feel discontent? Gin-centric. One-sided GinxSherry. Written for Poirot Cafe's Short Story #8: Silence. Post-Mystery Train.

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A man in black, with silver hair falling past the stools, sat solitary by the counter. In front of him his half-empty glass of clear liquid bearing the same name as his, clanks as the ice melts. He gave it a deathly glare, as if by doing so it'll revert back to being full again. It didn't. Instead, it reminded him of this afternoon's events in the form of a series of words.

Nagoya. Bell Tree Express. Mystery Train. Death by flames. Final stop.

Sherry is dead. Bourbon already put an end to her. This is exactly why he's here right, alone with his glass of favorite liquor? He's celebrating, because _finally_ , the traitor who slipped through his fingers is gone. But why does he feel discontent?

Both hands gripped the glass tight to show his annoyance. _He_ was supposed to be the one to silence her… but now…

"Excuse me?" the bartender from across him cut him off his thoughts. Gin's eyes shifted slightly to look at the younger boy.

The boy flinched, cleared his throat and struggled to say, "M-more drinks for you, sir?"

Gin handed his glass out to the other guy, who then wordlessly filled his glass and busied himself with cleaning the obviously dust-free shelf behind him.

With his drink refilled, his mind wandered to the frightened look of the man who just served him. Twitchy—the boy in his twenties was more twitchy than usual, he noted; his hands shook like he downed an entire gallon of coffee for dinner.

Needless to say, Gin finds this extremely entertaining. Is he always this intimidating? Or was it because the bartender remembered how he brought to pieces with a single bullet the bar's old jukebox?

That's probably it, so Gin thought it best to dismiss the (utterly unimportant) subject.

Come to think of it, not to brag or anything, but when was the last time an ordinary person did not find him scary? Even now, the other patrons of this joint treat him like some kind of virus; some _thing_ to be feared, some _thing_ to stay away from. Well, if he wasn't a part of some secret organization, he'd be afraid of himself, too.

With the question came the familiar ache he swore he'd never show anyone…

He knows her like the back of his hand, remembers even the oldest memory he had of her—the first time they met—the innocent smile which has long left her features, the strawberry-hair and bright cerulean eyes that go with it. That and many more wonderful delights—that was the part of her he liked, was the part of her he secretly cherished deep within his heart of stone… Until that part of her was crushed dead by the organization he secretly despises.

In this rare alone time he's got, he thought of her—her cold slender fingers and how, when placed against his equally cold ones, comforting warmth takes its place, her small, fragile frame and the promise he once made about protecting it, her brilliant mind he always loved, the sweet nothings his now vulgar lips once whispered.

Come to think of it, she never feared him… apart from That Person, she was the only one who never did… Until he too was made into a murderer by the same organization he secretly despises. And lately, he wanted nothing but to _kill_ Sherry.

Deep inside he wanted to think Bourbon failed…

 _She's still alive somewhere._

Because he knows he's the only one who can put an end to her…

 _Much like she's the only one who can end him._

Because he can't let anyone else have her.

Because even if everything changes and this world turns him more sinister, there's one thing that'll never change…

"There you are, Aniki! That Person called an emergency meeting. We gotta go."

Gin blinked, turned his head to the source… and realized he just carelessly trapped himself into another one of his rare 'hallucinatory moments.'

It was not until the familiar voice of his companion called him that he thought; maybe all these unnecessary reminiscing came about from the lack of ambient pub music.

"Is it always this quiet in here?" was the tall guy's out-of-character question, to which Vodka, caught off-guard by the query, can only answer a, "Huh?!"

At a lack of things to do, Gin downed his glass, stood up and reached for his wallet.

"Tch, I wasted time," he muttered under his breath before placing the money down on the table with a much audible _bam_. The bartender, still busy with the shelves, visibly flinched and turned swiftly to face the table.

Thick, bushy brows furrowed beneath dark-tinted shades and fedora in confusion.

"Aniki?"

Once again, Gin watched the flustered boy in a bowtie as he puts the money away. Without a second wasted, he once again reached for his wallet and brought out an extra 30,000 Yen.

"Here's a little extra for the damage last week," he said under his breath, as if he's making an illegal transaction right then and there.

"B-but sir?" the bartender started. "The lady you're with the last time already paid for—"

"I don't care!" he hissed. The last thing he needs right now is a reminder that Vermouth exists. "Next time I'm here, I want my jazz music on! The sound of your air conditioner gives me a headache!"

Beside him, Vodka tilted his head at a loss for words. He watched him make his way to the door before he followed suit of Gin. If only he knew what the lack of background music is doing to his partner's brain…

Needless to say, to the organization member with the distinct long silver hair, it was fun scaring people, but when it's time to drink the last thing he needs is to wander back to why once upon a time there was one person who wasn't afraid of him… and how that one person is the only person who will ever have control over him.

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 **A/N:** Aaaaaand done!~

I more or less have this same experience right here. If ambient music in an establishment is nonexistent, my mind wanders off to the darkest depths of my **_most random_** memories, which is weird, and scary and at the same time interesting. If there's no ambient music I keep myself entertained with its interior design, eyes wandering towards the ceiling, or the lighting, or a random stain on a tablecloth... aaaand you can pretty much deduce right now how weird a person I am.

So yeah, I thought what would Gin think of at a bar with the absence of jazz music? And this mess right here happened. Still, y'gotta wonder why he wrecked the jukebox at the first place.  
Cannot. Be. Undone. ROFLROFL

Reviews are **loooooove**! And again, I'm encouraging people to nag me with updates, most especially with _Is My Heart Asleep._ That, or please help me get it into my system again... please? I don't want to leave people hanging anymore and it makes me feel bad cos I can't seem to find a way to start writing it again! Stay awesome, awesome people!

-neonquincy1217


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